Like the river, all things return
by Sasami1
Summary: A ninja can never escape his past, even when he tries to build a new future. POV of Don's wife in Silicon Valley, CA. Please R
1. Chapter 1

A.N.: I've reordered this first chapter to read a little more smoother, but I think it's important you know that after this chapter, the story switches to the past tense, as the history builds back to the present. Have a good one.

* * *

Angela sighed and sunk into the deep cushions of the living room couch. Pulling the chenille blanket over her lap, she switched on the television, pulling her socked feet onto the seat. It had been a depressing, slogging day at the college. So when her husband came to sit beside her, she employed his shoulder as another cushion.

He had the smell of acrid metal, and a sweaty sort of musk. Angela rolled his thick hand with her fingers and watched his dark brown eyes. They twinkled curiously at the television. She smiled, running her thumb up his palm.

"Hey Donnie," She spoke half into his shoulder, her playful eyes trained on his. He looked down at her, beginning to match her mischievous smile. "Wanna make out?"

He had to think for a moment. "Okay." His broad arms wrapped around her small body, pressing her back to the couch. She giggled, pulling his face to her and kissing him quickly. They followed with more, escalating into playful frenching. For about two delicious minutes until his timer went off on his belt. Grunting in displeasure, Donnie pulled back, removing a hand to tilt the beeper his way. He sat back and released Angela, turning the box off. "Work calls." He explained, frowning all over. She nodded and sighed as he stood, walking out of the living room.

Alone, she drew the blanket over her shoulders, sinking down before the wide screen television. It was already dark. The hours rolled by, until she was too tired of watching TV to stay any longer. Casting the blanket aside, and switching the television off, she made her way through the silent house.

A soft whirring came from below; she placed her hand against the basement door. Pushing it open, she began the careful descent down the ill-lit stairs. The steps creaked under the weight, and the noise stopped. She peeked over the railing to the pair of glimmering eyes in the computer screen's glow.

"Going to bed now." She said softly. "You coming?"

"In a minute." She nodded and headed upstairs. In her experience, a minute would stretch out likely until the early morning. Throwing her clothes into the hamper, she changed into a nightshirt and climbed into bed. Maybe to wait.

* * *

My name is Angela Stemming. This is my life. I'm a twenty-five year old teachers assistant living in California with my husband. And this will be the last sane night I'll have in a long time.

* * *

Sometime in the night a rustling of fabric ended the silence of the bedroom. Angela, who had been in a light sleep, stirred and turned on her side. Donald fumbled with his pants until they dropped to the ground. Indeed, he had stayed late in the lab, and was sneaking into bed in the middle of the night. Peeling off his old 'AC DC' tee shirt, he caught Angela awake.

"_Sorry Angie_." He crawled into bed. She rubbed her eyes, nodding.

"It's alright." The sheets rustled as she moved beside him, using his shoulder as a pillow again as he lay down. "I was already up."

"Mmm." His arm snaked around her. As they settled in place, he non-chalantly kissed her neck. Glad he wasn't going to pass out, she smiled and kissed him back. He smelled even more metallic, and she suspected he had had his hands in the chemical cleaners again. Her knee crossed over his, and rubbed between his legs. His hand came over to stroke her side. "You want to?" His voice failed to hide the hint of hopefulness. She kissed his chin, and around his jaw, allowing him to begin unbuttoning her shirt. "Is this why you stayed up?" He chuckled.

"I love it when you're smart." She breathed huskily, now much more awake. Climbing over his middle, she straddled his chest, the bed sheets falling down her back. Her fingers nimbly finished undoing her shirt, and she let it hang loose.

"Only then?"

"Only always." He grinned and ran his hand down her shoulders, pushing the shirt down her arms. "You know that." She caressed his face, till he pulled her down again to him. "Pooh bear."

"Angel face."

* * *

"Angel… hey, Angie," A gentle voice stirred the room. The sunlight had just begun to grow through the screen windows. Fighting back sleep, Angela opened her eyes, buried deep beneath the comforter. Donnie's face appeared over her, and he kissed her forehead. "Don't get up. I'm on my way out."

"Mmm." Her eyes fluttered. He pulled over a dark sweater and looked to her again. "What's wrong?" She could see a subtle discomfort over his face. He furrowed his brow.

"Probably nothing. Don't worry." He smirked reassuringly, turning toss his dirty clothes to the hamper. "I'm going to see the guys, help with their S-22. I'll put on the security system on my way out."

"Mmm." Only half awake, she nodded her assent.

"I'll be home soon." Donnie came back and kissed her goodbye, then he was gone.

"Kay." Angela mumbled, slipping deeper beneath the covers. It was the weekend, and she could sleep in as late as she liked. But half an hour later and still awake, she figured she might as well get up. Crawling out of bed, she pulled on jeans and tank top, and smoothed the bed sheets down. A term paper and bagel sounded like Saturday morning, and she went into the kitchen down the hall. Her black laptop sat poised on the counter.

The fresh flowers on the table called to her. She paused to smell them, cupping the muff of petals in her hand. A shifting shadow passed her peripheral vision. Expecting, hoping after Donnie's warning, to see Don or the guys, she turned with a smile. Which failed as four black figures appeared out of the living room.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N.: With Rene's sage advice, I've reordered my first chapter to read a little smoother, and I'll add the disclaimer here that I'll also stick in the first chapter; that this story begins in the 'present', and then skips back in time. A bit disorienting, yes, but I think you'll like it. Have a good one.

* * *

I met Donald five years ago. Or, I should say, my father met Donald. At a computer convention in Silicon Valley. According to legend, Don was going 'incognito' as he always did in public, wearing sweat pants, a trench, and a wide brimmed hat, looking utterly ridiculous. As if he didn't stand out enough, part way through the convention his hat fell off. My father apparently took pity on him, and brought him into the men's room. I asked him why once, he told me about how at 'his age' odd bodies didn't matter much anymore. I thought it was charming.

That was the thing about my dad. He was a great person, always a humanitarian. He and Donnie struck some sort of rapport that day. Enough to bring him home for dinner. That's where I met him. The two were talking about pulse converters, or some other science fiction jargon, over a bowl of spaghetti. Now, living with my father, I'd seen a lot of strange things. But a giant human-turtle hybrid in sweat pants eating spaghetti in my living room took the cake. My father had a good laugh about it; both of us equally shocked to see the other. He also had a very broad sense of humor, my father.

So from then on, Don became a regular sight around the house. Or what I assumed was a regular sight. He spent all his time with my dad in the lab downstairs. The entire bottom floor of our house was converted into a giant laboratory, so even when I did go down to use one of the computers, I rarely caught site of him. He seemed to be making my father a working hermit too.

My dad was a retired technical engineer, and worked his own projects out of the house. Whenever Don came around he became a total recluse. I suspect they were even sleeping down there sometimes, seeing Don sneak out in the morning. Eventually I began taking food down to them, knowing they were too single minded to feed themselves.

* * *

Nearing dark, the door finally cracked open. Shaking her keys out of the lock, Angela dropped them in her purse as she bumped the front door all the way open. A pair of pizza boxes were held under one stretched arm, and she set them on the dining table before she fell over with them. Closing the door and tossing her purse on the counter, she cast a glance to the lab door. It was closed, signaling her dad and his assistant were working. She leaned over the dining table, adjusting her frizzy mass of light brown curls in the waxy reflection. Pulling a hair band from around her wrist, she tied her hair back and took the pizza boxes back up, taking them to the lab.

She ventured down the rickety steps cautiously, the dim light over the stairs never quite adequate. Downstairs was a bevy of electronics and equipment. While she was more than fluent on regular computer systems, she never had same flare and genius of her father. So she never spent a lot of time in the lab.

Following the sound of Aerosmith, Angela made her way through the maze. Her father also prided himself on being music buff. It sounded like the platform was the center of action that day. Coming up on the back of the lab, she saw what seemed to be a souped up easy-chair, looking much like a go-cart. Sparks tinkered out from beneath, bouncing out beside two protruding legs. Don. She nudged his foot and the hiss of the torch turned off. He rolled out from beneath and sat up on the sliding board.

"Hungry?"

"Yeah." He set the handset of the torch aside, twisting down the gas release of the tank. His arms were big, cut deep and hard with muscles, which continued down his chest. She looked away, and set the boxes on the nearby chair, the only clear spot in the place. It wasn't right to be thinking about him like that. After all, he was a _turtle_. "Thanks Angela." He smiled.

"Sure. Pepperoni, artichoke and tomato." She could see his eyes light up, but he was too shy to go for it. Fortunately her father came back and he seemed to relax.

"Hey sweeth'art!" He boomed over the music. His slackened surgeons mask completed the image of a jolly Santa, which he was well aware of. "Aye, you brought us lunch! Lemme wash up!" He pulled off the mask and headed for the sink.

"More like dinner." She countered, but he was already off again. "Time flies, right?" Don nodded.

"Thank you for the pizza, though."

"Of course." She sighed, heading back to the stairs. The hissing torch started up again behind her.

* * *

That was the way most nights went. For about four months. That's when the accident happened. One night in the lab the system backfired and caused an explosion. Don wasn't there that day, which I suppose was good. I don't know what the EMTs would've thought of him.

On the way to the hospital my father went into cardiac arrest. He was always an easygoing person. But I guess with age, and cholesterol, the blast was just too much for him… He died in the ambulance. The man who had been my friend and guardian from birth left with no theatrics, no smiles, and no way to tell him farewell.

There wasn't any family in state, since my mother and her sisters had died years ago. So the funeral was small. Just me, some old business partners and a priest. It was a sunny day, which seemed fitting, but I still didn't like it. After the service, I stayed late by the grave. My father and I were very close. Maybe I still wanted to be close to him that night.

* * *

"_Angela_," Hardly enough to rouse her, Angela continued tearing bits of grass from the ground. Another person sat beside her, cautious not to be too close. The hem of ratty khakis belonged to Don. He cleared his throat, making study of the dirt plot before them. Angela sucked in air and tossed a handful of grass in its direction. "It's dark." He reminded her.

"_Yeah._" She wheezed. He finally caught her eyes, finding them red and dry. The ghost lines of tears ran down her cheeks.

"Ang…" He turned on his hip to face her. Fresh tears began, _dad used to call me 'Ang.'_ "Ang, I'm sorry." She nodded vigorously, trying to fight back the crying fit for awhile. "I'm so sorry for your loss." Reaching over and clasping his shoulder, she swallowed in the tears.

"I'm sorry for you too." He tried to stop her. "No, you and my dad were real close." Another dam broke. She hardly took notice as he pulled her into his arms. Rocking the girl gently, he let her face bury in his coat. It was several moments before she could gather herself again.

"You were his daughter." Don whispered into her hair. "It's okay, how you're feeling." She gulped in air.

"I-HI-HI-I-I feel o-old." Angela clutches the plates of his chest, swallowing down on her constricting throat.

"I know. It's ok." He stroked her back. "Come on," Standing, and pulling Angela gently to her feet, "I'm going to take you home." He acted as a crutch, nearly carrying her through the cemetery. "I'll make some tea."

* * *

Those months after his death were very hard. I missed my father terribly, and suddenly had to learn to live on my own at the same time. While money was never an issue, just managing the household and bills was greatly disconcerting. My father had a large deal of experiments and projects, which had to be looked after. Fortunately Don came by every couple of days to keep up on the lab, and help on the paperwork for them that had to be submitted to the companies. Without a partner to putter around the basement with, I saw more of him above ground.

* * *

A flurry of papers flew up in the gust of wind. Slapping down the forms, Angela frowned at Don, who quickly closed the front door behind him.

"Sorry." He dropped his keys into his jacket, then hung it up beside the door. "What with the papers?" He looked over the mountain of papers, which coated the dining room table. Pale blue eyes narrowed as Angela scowl/pouted at the paper work before her. Don tried not to laugh.

"We got W-10s, W-2s, something with lots of numbers, here's something that looks important… I think this one is my report card from fifth grade." He came around to her side of the table, looking over the set of papers currently before her. "On top of that, I just found out I'm failing accounting, and –_oh yeah_- the guy I've been dating just told me he wants to see other men."

"I see."

"What do you think you're smiling at?" She glared at him. He shook his head.

"Nothing." A few moments passed. "Other _men?_" She groaned, laying her face into the bed of paper. "Sorry, sorry." He chuckled lightly, patting her back. "Look, take these into the living room, I'll order us a pizza, and, uh, give you a hand."

"Thanks." She said weakly. Spotting the pile of used tissues on the adjacent chair, he added.

"I'll throw in some ice cream too, huh?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Don helped out a lot at the house. Often fixing my father's inventions in the kitchen that I dare not touch. In return, he had free reign over the lab. Once I confessed how much I appreciated his help and company, he started showing up more often. We would stay up late talking, or watching TV, or playing computer games over the LAN. Often all three.

At some point we decided it would be easier if Don simply moved in. As it was, he spent the afternoons in the lab, came up for dinner with me, and then we spent the night in the living room. He left before dawn, and showed up again while I was at school, back to the lab. I wondered where he stayed when he left. He never talked about friends, or a home.

He took the guestroom at the end of the hall. And for awhile things between us seemed pretty cut and dry. Or at least that's what we'd like to think.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Stripping off the last layer of clothes, Angela stood before her bedroom mirror. Her wet shoulder length hair was finally tame, and she pinned it back out of the way. Outside her window the rain clouds were finally parting, right _after_ she had gotten home. Sighing, she put on a set of dry underwear, jeans, and a sweater. The fluffy warmth was welcome against her clammy skin.

However she did not have time to savor the feeling, before alarmed strains of curses carried through the house. She knew the voice well enough. It was that of her roommate, Donnie. But never had she heard his voice harsh or angry like this. Angela ran out of her room, and was met on the basement stairs by Don. Clutching a wet, and increasingly red, rag around his wrist, he nearly knocked her down.

"_Oh my god, what happened!_" She jogged with him back up the stairs. Blood beginning to trail down his arm, Don simply gave a guttural grunt.

"Slipped on the band saw." He rushed to the bathroom and was pushed onto the seat of the toilet by Angela's firm hands. "I think it's a centimeter or two deep." The rag becoming uselessly soaked, his breathing quickly became slow. Angela crawled onto the sink counter, first aid kit in hand. His chest languidly rose and fell as he watched his wrist drip onto the tiled floor. She grabbed his elbow and raised his arm over his head when he stopped listening to her. The rag fell off and she panicked as the liquid began running heavily through the valleys of his arm.

Gauze squares were pressed over it as she applied the butterfly bandages, sealing the cut closed. Don began to slip down in the seat, his eyes drooping.

"Don," She finished suturing the cut, and started taping bandages over it. "_Don!_" He finally closed his eyes, letting out a slow stream of breath. "_Donnie!_" She gave him the back of her hand, and he seemed dazed. "Try and stay awake." He nodded absently and she wrapped an elastic band around his wrist, tucking the end into the folds. A damp washcloth was used to wipe the blood-streaked mess down his arm. He began to slip again, and she crawled off the sink, helping him to his feet.

"Ngggh." Leaning heavily with his arm around Angela's shoulders, Don let himself be lead out into the hall. He weighed a ton, and she wobbled herself. Not to be discouraged, she hulked forward, nearly carrying Don's two hundred fifty pound body.

After a few laborious minutes, they made it into nearby bedroom. Don dropped onto the bed with a pained, turning into a relieved groan. He sunk into the mattress and closed his eyes, succumbing to sleep immediately. An afghan was pulled over his now pale body.

A coiled tension unwound itself as Angela saw him resting peacefully. The nervousness she hadn't noticed surprised her because of its dispersion. Sighing in relief, Angela leaned over the bed and kissed him. On the mouth.

While it only lasted a moment, she drew back in alarm. Right before his face, she watched his bleary eyes look up at her. Bottom lip quivering, she began running through a thousand things to say, while trying to imagine why she possibly had done that. Saying _sorry_ came to mind.

"I-uh…" She stumbled as a contented smile came over his sleepy face. A warm feeling over her fingers resting on his chest told her his hand was over hers. Pursing her lips, she smiled uncertainly.

* * *

So that was the slam bang beginning of our relationship. I can still remember those early anxious flutterings, like a bird in my ribcage. Whenever I came in to bring him food he would sheepishly ask for another kiss. Although I suspect he was more confident than that. Just trying to tease me. He was better in a few days, and back to the lab where he left off.

Already being smitten with him, starting a romantic relationship with Donnie was very natural. He was sweet, gentle, funny, and even playful. And he treated me like a goddess.

Not that everything was always so keen between us. We fought like all couples, and all roommates. And we made up like them too.

* * *

Dropping her purse on the table, Angela stopped before an imposing looking turtle in the living room. Don was only a few inches taller than her, but with his jaw tight and arms crossed, he had a looming presence. There was a half full black garbage bag in one hand, and he was very displeased about it.

"Welcome home." He said with a sarcastic bite, letting the bag fall onto the floor.

"Thank you?" She doubted he knew what a threatening figure he could have, with all his muscles taught. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Still sarcastic. "What could possibly be wrong. This place is a gigantic mess." He turned sideways to reveal the tornado zone of the living room. House cleaning had been a bit of an issue lately, and she wasn't that good of cleaning up after herself. "_Just because I'm at home doesn't mean I'm going to play housemaid._"

"Oh, I don't see how you could if you wanted to." She pulled off her jacket and laid it over the dining chair. "Your lab would get too jealous."

"What is that supposed to mean."

"It _means_ that if you were to actually clean up, you'd have to do it in the half an hour window you have between two thirty and three in the morning when you aren't otherwise 'involved' with the basement. _That's_ what it means."

"I have _work_ I do there." He fumed. "What's _your_ excuse for being a slob?"  
"I'm _human_, that's my excuse." She was nearly shouting. "More than I can say for _you_."

"_Oh_, so _that's_ what this is about now? I'm a mutant, so I have to stay home and be your _servant boy!_" He stalked across the floor, swiftly closing the distance between them. For a moment she thought he might be coming to hit her, but he passed her by. "Well, I'm goin' on break now, _Ma'ssah_." He grabbed his coat and hat off the wall and flung the door open. "_And_ _I don't know if I'll be back_."

"_I hope you get hit by a truck!_" The house seemed to shake when he slammed the door behind him. "_ASS!_" She called. Taking her words out of context, she ran back to the door and gave it a kick as if it were him. "_Go fuck yourself!_"

* * *

A/N.: I know it's a subtle story, and there's no hack and slashing, but I appreciate reviews much so. Please send some love. For only one review a chapter, the time it takes to heat up a chicken patty, you can keep a fanfic author like Sasami here off the streets. Please review, for the fanfic authors. 


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